Ernst: Compared to earlier uproar, hog hunt is ho-hum

While the killing of wild animals in any venue offends the sensibilities of some people, as hunts go, this was about as organized and monitored as it's going to get.

Eric Ernst

Back in July, the Sarasota County commissioners induced quite an uproar when they approved a three-night hog hunt at Deer Prairie Creek Park near North Port.

The hunt itself, held in early December, seemed almost anti-climactic.

Coming from all over the state, 58 hunters, accompanied by 95 assistants and 309 dogs, paid $75 to enter. Altogether they caught and slaughtered 40 hogs on site and left with meat to eat, sell or give away.

While the killing of wild animals in any venue offends the sensibilities of some people, as hunts go, this was about as organized and monitored as it's going to get. Neither the county nor the Southwest Florida Water Management District, which co-owns the property and maintains it, just turned the hunters loose.

Stephanie Green, Swiftmud's senior land manager, was there every night, along with law enforcement officers and personnel to man the check stations.

Green is a proponent of the hunt, not because she wants to see animals killed but because of the damage the hogs inflict on the ecosystem.

Swiftmud has bought extensive tracts of land to protect water resources and their buffering uplands. The land sometimes serves a secondary purpose: recreation.

The wild hogs disrupt both.

Maybe Swiftmud could overlook the rooting that makes it hard for horses, cyclists and hikers to traverse the trails on 10,000-plus acres east of the Myakka River at Deer Prairie Creek and the adjacent Schewe Tract.

But the park managers can't ignore the threat the hogs pose to other species. Their rooting kills pine saplings and exposes the roots of other plant species, sometimes endangered species, either killing them or delaying their recovery after burns.

The upturned soil allows exotic species, such as Brazilian pepper, to take hold. It also makes it difficult for gopher tortoises to move freely.

The hogs also feed on quail and turkey eggs, as well as chicks.

If the hog population remained stable, the environment could probably absorb it. But hogs reach sexual maturity in six months. They're prolific breeders, and they have virtually no predators. “If there was no management at all, they'd take over everything,” Green says.

She would not even guess at the number of hogs living in the parks. An ongoing trap program removes about 200 a year. And that's barely making a dent. The hunt is a last resort, its need determined “when it gets to the severity where practically every hammock is damaged,” Green says

Critics of the hunt feared the hogs would suffer and that the dogs used in hog-hunting often get injured.

Let's face it; hunting is a messy business. But the hunters attracted to this type of event are probably among the most experienced and conscientious. They don't want their dogs hurt, and they don't want to prolong the killing of the hog if for no other reason than that stress taints the taste of the meat.

Almost all the dogs are equipped with GPS trackers, so their owners know exactly where they are and can quickly reach them when they've cornered a hog.

If there were an easier way to do it, people would be doing it. But this is the way hog-hunting is done all over Florida, where feral hogs have become a problem on public and private land.

Green was actually a bit disappointed at the final tally at Deer Prairie Creek. Rain and fog hampered the hunt on the first two nights, and the hogs were skittish by the third. She hopes for better luck during a second hunt scheduled for March 19-21.

Depending on the hog damage after that, Swiftmud might not need another culling for years.

And by the way, this is not a moneymaker for the district. Subtracting fees from expenses, the December hunt still cost $603.